Two psychopath's walk into a bar
by Marystormshade
Summary: And get along surprisingly well. Multi-Fic. Eventual Mentor!Hannibal, Apprentice!Will. Will follow plot loosely. Will change to M...at some point.
1. Prologue

**Authors note: This will be a multi-chapter fic, yes I will in fact be planning the chapters out, unlike all my other stories. Enjoy and review. **

**Spoiler warning: This story will involve quotes/plot themes from Thom Harris's novels and the Hannibal movies. Plus, y'know...the show. **

Xxxxxxxxxx

_Breathing in the night sky I feel better. A chunk of yellow rotting moon hangs, but I open up to it and let it howl. The night pounding through my veins and throbbing into my fingertips and singing across skin stretched tight on my neck and I feel it all change. _

_The black wings reached out from deep inside and spread across the night sky and propel me forward. _

_He's standing there, thin lips smirking from underneath irises the color of the sky. And he's so...proud. So, hungry. _

_This is my design. _

It's at this part in the dream that Will wakes, sweat brushing his face and hair matted to the pillow he's clenching in a vice like grip.

Blearily blinking his sits, far too fast, and has to grip the sheets for support when he feels his head start to spin. His dogs look in on him, mildly interested but far too tired to actually show concern, before their heads find their way back to their own pillows.

As Will fumbles for his glasses he debates calling Dr. Lector.

It was he, after all, that was dreamt of.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Accidental is such a horrible word. It stands for all the things Hannibal dislikes. It is random, messy, unplanned and therefore dangerous. It is the word that will get him caught someday, because in spite of all the care in the world, something accidental can still happen and, in this world of ragged chaotic chance, it always does.

Will Graham however, is such a...nice accident.

Even before waking entirely he knows it is him, the piercing ring of the phone breaks the cold silence and he knows.

"Dr. Lector." Will states, breath seemingly empty. Hannibal hums from the other end of the line.

"William. And to what do I owe this...pleasure?" He asks after a moment, deciding not to talk about the fact that it's ten past three in the morning and there's a roast in the kitchen that still needs another good ten hours of preparation and he needs to be at full concentration when he steams the vegetables to their peak. Liver is difficult to prepare after all.

"Dr., I'd like to schedule an appointment. If that's all right." His voice shakes subtly on the other end and Hannibal is almost certain that if he were to breathe in hard and carefully that he would smell everything that Will is.

Cheap Christmas aftershave and dog breath cotton, exhaustion laced pheromones and the metallic scent of his mouth.

"Of course. Dreams I presume?"

Hannibal doesn't know but Will clenches his fingers into his palm until small white crescents push forth. He rubs his eyes as he responds.

"Dr. Lector I-I am afraid."

Hannibal is quiet for a moment or two. He would deny it later but his lips spread thinly as a sadistic joy caressed his insides.

"See you in the morning William."


	2. 1:1, Happy Accident

Act 1, scene 1: Happy Accident.

Xxxxxxxxxx

_An insecure and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind. -Buddha_

Xxxxxxxxxx

They met in his office at 7:00, early considering Hannibal's usual afternoon sessions. Hannibal had beckoned Will in, and motioned for him to take a seat, entertain himself for a moment as he prepared a cup of coffee for each of them. As Hannibal stood not ten feet away from Will while he poured the scalding liquid into two individual cups, he allowed himself a moment of study.

William wore the customary plaid button up, which had clearly been halfheartedly tucked into his slacks as obvious from the way the material wrinkled when he moved slightly to the left. The stubble that usually was kept at a decently uniform length was a bit longer than normal, a slightly more gruff look that Hannibal found he enjoyed. Will's eyes bore the tired insecurities of a man being chased by something no one else could see.

Dr. Lector smiled to himself. He could tell that this was going to be an interesting session.

Sitting down in the leather chair opposite of the long yet formal couch in which his patients usually sat, Hannibal nodded his head toward Will, an indication for him to begin.

And after taking a large gulp of coffee, he does.

Will let a breath filter past his lips as he sinks onto the couch, involuntarily reaching for his glasses as he rubbed his eyes.

"I had an...interesting dream." Will said finally, as he pushed the glasses back along the bridge of his nose, staring at a spot just above Hannibal's shoulder.

"Tell me about this dream, Will." Dr. Lector urged, moving his hand to cup his own chin.

"I-I was..." He takes a breath. "There was a gun in my hand, and I was aiming at Hobbs." He stops as Hannibal quirks an eyebrow.

"Reliving the rescue of Abigail are we?"

"No. Not at all. He-Hobbs, was on the ground, trying to get away...He was unarmed and I still-." Once more William stops as he seems to take a moment to regain his composure. "After I shot him, I stood there for a while as if I was waiting for something, and then, you were there."

Hannibal allows a small hum.

"Was I?"

"Yes, you were, and you were so...proud of me."

Hannibal watches as Will looks up at him, eyes rimmed with a cocktail of worry and suspicion. He decides that a reassuring smile is most likely the best tactic in this situation.

" l want to help you, Will. Please relax." Suddenly Will seems to become annoyed. As if having grown tired of Lector's patronizing. He lifted the cup of coffee to his lips.

"If you have something to say Dr. Lector then just say it." He whispers quietly. Hannibal allows a fond smile to peak out at Will's display of anger. It's simply delectable.

"What are you fighting Will? We don't invent our natures, they're issued to us with our lungs and pancreas and everything else." Hannibal questioned calmly, testing. He needed to know the strength of the ground he stood on.

Will seemed a taken aback by this sudden turn of events as he puts the coffee down.

"How can I fight something that isn't there?" Will demands, secretly wanting to know the answer.

"Fear William. You are saddled by your fear, and it is the price of all of our instruments. Allow me to help you bear it."

Will doesn't respond, but instead stares in confused wonder. He looks down at his coffee for the first time since he's received it, and swears that he cringes.

_While my patient looks away, preoccupied with his dreams, I prepare the refreshments. Inclusive of Coffee, cream, sugar and a healthy dosage of some sort of white powder. Most likely PCP. _

_This is my design. _

Hannibal flashes him a smile that for some inexplicable reason, causes Will's knee's to go weak as he tries to stand.

"What did you-"

"Shhh. Do not worry. It is a non lethal dosage, and under my supervision it should help us quite extensively."

Will is too busy trying to figure out how much coffee he drank, how much he weighs, and the most likely amount of drugs he ingested.

It's getting hard for him to think.

"Please, Will. Sit down, it's rude to stand in the middle of a conversation."


	3. 1:2, Disinterest

Act 1, Scene 2: Disinterest

Xxxxxxxxxx

I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality. -Frida Kahlo

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will feels strangely warm. Like a content numbness is washing over him. He knows that this is because of the coffee, he knows that what Lector is doing is unethical and ridiculous, but he can't bring himself to care. If anything, he feels like he should be thanking Hannibal.

Will does the most uncharacteristic thing and smiles. He then stops smiling and makes an incredulous face of self wonderment.

He looks, and so does Hannibal. And, something clicks.

William Graham, for the first time, submitted completely to the sudden peace of mind one experiences on one's own, the certainty of self in the serenity of solitude, the release and openness and fluency one shares with another in close companionship.

He was numb except for dreading the loss of numbness.

Hannibal smiles back at him.

"How are you feeling Will?" Dr. Lector asks languidly as he slips himself next to Will's sitting form resting precariously on the couch.

"I feel...strangely happy." Will say's as he trains his eyes on Hannibal's tie. It's purple with black dots, and he feels like he should tug on it until it falls onto the ground. But he doesn't, because that would be rude, and Hannibal hates rudeness. And the last thing Will wants is Hannibal to hate him.

"Any lethargy?"

Will doesn't respond as he's far to entranced with the coffee table.

"That's a yes then." Hannibal muses quietly to himself as he gains Will's attention with a gentle snap of his fingers. "Tell me how you felt in your dream." Hannibal says with quiet command lacing his tone.

Will nods and squeezes his eyes shut, as if turning the blackness from behind his eyelids into white dancing lights will change the situation, have him wake with Winston licking his foot, have him only just fallen asleep on Lector's couch.

He speaks.

"I felt...powerful."

Almost instantly there is a release in the center of his gut and a lift of weight on his head and he becomes aware that he's smiling again, and there's a hand brushing his glasses from his nose. The headache he had this morning seems to decrease slightly, as if soothed by the truth.

"Yes, most people would in such a situation." Hannibal comments, holding back the triumphant smirk that peeks from his thin lips.

This is his design.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It is after much discussion of nothing that the small dosage given to Will has worn off and there is a knock on Dr. Lector's office.

Will say's nothing as Hannibal moves to open it, revealing a slightly disheveled Jack, he seems happily surprised to see them both. He smiles in greeting at Hannibal and tries to say hello to Will, who only grunts in reply.

"Ah, so this is where you were." Jack says with amusement. His response is a grunt.

"I apologize agent Crawford, I was performing a procedure that required a medication, I'm afraid Will has taken slightly badly to it." Hannibal explains with a small smile.

"'taken badly'" Will mimics with a hollow chuckle.

"Nothing to bad I hope?" Jack asks with very little concern.

"No, not at all."

"Good, good, that's...good. Listen, Will, we have a crime scene that we'd like you to look at." Jack states as he takes a step toward the couch where Will is rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes.  
"Dr. Lector, you can come to if you'd like."

"Yes, I'd very much like to keep an eye on Will for the next few hours."

"Great, I've got my car, I could give Will a ride if-" Jack is cut off with a raised hand. Hannibal's hand to be exact.

"No need, I shall transport good Will to the scene if you simply point us in the correct direction."

Jack is taken aback by this request, however Will make's no objection, and so he does not concern himself too much.

"Alright, well, that's fine I suppose."


	4. 1:3, Crime of Passion

Act 1, scene 3: Crime of passion

Xxxxxxxxxx

"It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets."  
―Voltaire

Xxxxxxxxxx

They drive in silence, and Will doesn't look at Hannibal, not once, he keeps his gaze out the window.

"How long do you plan on doing this?" Hannibal asks finally, no longer amused at Will's somewhat childish response to the problem.

"As long as it takes." Is his short, yet simple reply.

Hannibal sighs through his nose.

"How do you feel?"

"Violated."

They drive in silence.

Xxxxxxxxxx

_Don't blink, it makes this process much harder. _

_Push, push until the sight is drowned out, the push some more. Puncture the brain, listen for the gasp, stop pushing. _

**They're all looking at him. **

_Hum, it makes you feel better, even in this space, the cement walls feel safe, so comforting. The hum will echo. _

_Carve the design into the skin on their chest. Don't hesitate, they can't feel it anyway. You're getting better. Good. _

_Pour the bleach and acid mixture that you've got stashed in the back of the car onto the now dead body. Watch. Wait. Listen. _

_The sizzling will echo. _

_Leave, do not worry, the body will not move, not now. Someone will find it and they will know. _

_This design is not perfect, but it is mine. _

Will really hates parking garages. The mixing putrid scent of asphalt and mold always make his headaches start up with a vengeance.

Pulling away from the corpse of the woman, mid twenties, now a mess of chemical burns and blood, he takes a moment to examine the carving.

A bull head with horns.

How unoriginal.

Dr. Lector comes up behind him, a silent sign.

"Interesting style of taste." He say's after a moment. "What have you gathered, Will?" He turns, looks at Will with a small smile and waits.

Will rubs his nose and pulls his glasses off. He keeps rubbing as he starts with a choky sigh.

"The person that did this is a very stupid psychopath. There's no real motive behind this other than pure..." He stops, steals a glance at the body, then continues. "power hunger. He'll kill again, that much is obvious. He'll continue this pattern, young, female, chemical mutilation. He doesn't know what else to do. He's a security guard. Probably works on commission. Explains the scenery." He motions toward what seems like a stalagmite pile of cement adhesive. "Unimpressive compared to the Ripper."

Hannibal's eye brows quirk in silent delight and curiosity.

"How, may I ask, is the Ripper impressive?" Hannibal questions, pivoting his torso slightly.

"He makes his presence a dominating factor in his crimes, not only just a fancy showing of how many sharp metal objects he can stick into someone. There's a...grim intelligence behind it all. Very Victorian. He doesn't dance either, he's in the game or he's not. That's really what it boils down to." After a moment or two Will looks back at the body, stares at the eyes that have been turned to a warm pool of goop within their sockets. "He's never going to stop."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes him God. Would you give that up?"

No, he really wouldn't.

Xxxxxxxxxx

They drive in silence.

Will is the first to break it.

"I understand the reasoning behind what you did. I fail to see however, why you didn't inform me of this plan."

"You would have said no."

It's such a simple answer that Will almost screams. Almost.

He's dropped off at Hannibal's office, where Will's car is. They part with silent nods and affirmations of "See you when the next person dies".

Will arrives home to hungry snouts and restless dreams.

Not all of them are bad though.


	5. 1:4, Marrying Figaro

Act 1, scene 4: Marrying Figaro

Xxxxxxxxxx

Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of the week. -William Dement

Xxxxxxxxxx

He swallows two Advil before bed, doesn't read whether or not they affect sleep, and crawls with a grim severity onto his mattress, before seeming to collapse like flan in a cupboard.

He dreams lucidly.

_The warm bronze scent of an electric clock. _

_His heart thrums from behind his ribs, the pumping sounds like small wings beating. There are many bodies lying on the ground, each one of them posed in their own unique way. Katz is sitting up stiffly, like there's a board keeping her back straight. Miriam Lass is open mouthed and staring with horror struck blankness at some invisible point in the air. Jack lay twisted, each bone in his body seemingly injured, the ligaments pulled apart until he became sloppy. Alana looks like a fish, he notes mildly interested, her wrists tied to her ankles, stomach arching forward, displaying skin red and mottled. _

_He's not sure if he should be concerned that all of these people are suddenly in front of him dead. _

_He's holding a gun. _

_"This isn't real." _

_"Your ability to state the obvious is impressive, after all this time." A suave voice answers, thin lips spreading slightly. _

_Hannibal has small, clean, white teeth. Making him ferociously handsome, in a 'you look delicious' sort of way. _

_"What happened?" Will's voice wavers as he's quite certain he already knows the answer. _

_"You did." Hannibal whispers, stepping forward slightly. "Isn't it wonderful?" _

_Will can't stop himself. _

_"Yes." _

_He doesn't know why what happens next happens, but it does. _

_Hannibal's smile turns into a smirk as he sweeps forward, wrapping a lithe hand around the back of Will's neck, long fingers digging into the tender skin. _

_Will's breathing hitches. _

_They meet halfway, and for a moment, Will is paralyzed. However, stillness turns to tight grip as suddenly Hannibal's mouth skims across Will's neck up to his ear, where he nibbles gently. A harsh bite is given to the underside of Will's jaw and for a moment he forgets that there are bodies around them, that this is a dream, a very inappropriate dream._

_The moment lasts. _

Xxxxxxxxxx

He stares at his reflection in horror. As he realizes slowly that in his sleep he had moved his own fingernails across his legs, bitten his own wrists, and pinched his own skin, he also realizes that he's meeting with everyone at the academy, in Jack's office, at 8:45.

It's 9 o'clock.

He also, quite suddenly, has the epiphany that Hannibal will be there.

"Shit."

Xxxxxxxxxx

He doesn't know what type of coffee Dr. Lector-Hannibal-whateverthehellheis likes. So he goes with something neutral. A Columbian style drip, Grande.

He of course hides this one particular coffee gesture behind the four other coffee's he's purchased, a mocha for Alana, a latte for Katz, a double espresso with milk for Jack, and a now lukewarm Americano for himself.

When he arrives at the office, all eyes turn to him, then to the coffee, then to him.

He coughs, hands the plastic cups around, fumbling with the cardboard sleeves that tug on his skin.

"Where the hell have you been?" Katz asks, sipping the drink.

"Starbucks."

He doesn't look at Hannibal. But Hannibal looks at him, his eyebrows are raised and he's obviously attempting to figure out why Will's hair is straighter than usual and why at the same time his shirt buttons seemed rushed into place, as one is seemingly missing altogether.

He notes, with slight distaste, that Will does not acknowledge him.

"What's this about?" Will asks as he sloshes his cup.

"You didn't read the memo, did you?" Jack asks with a statement like tone.

"Never do."

"We have a suspect. We'd like your opinion."

Will releases a weary sigh, rubs his nose and takes off his glasses.

"Alright."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will and Hannibal looked at one another.

Silence enveloped them, and it was too early in the morning for it to be awkward.

"How did you sleep?" Hannibal asks, bringing the cup once more to his mouth, and Will observes as his upper lip covers the plastic lid. Hannibal notices and represses a smile.

"Fine."

It's a lie, both know it, but they don't bother prodding at it.

"I myself do not sleep very often, however, last night I did enjoy a few quiet moments."

Will nods and looks into his now empty cup, he wondered, distantly, if that coffee stained cup could tell how pathetic Will thought he was. Maybe, during the witching hours, the napkin would speak to him and offer him sage advice. He snorted as he imagined God speaking to him through a coffee cup.

Hannibal watched in silence and enjoyed the morning.

It was so nice to have people of interest start to join the game as well.


	6. 1:5, Celebration

Act 1, scene 5: Celebration

Xxxxxxxxxx

"First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you."  
―F. Scott Fitzgerald

Xxxxxxxxxx

The obligatory small celebration comes after the incarceration of a parking guard, John Silvester, and a total body count of three dead youth.

There is wine and food. Naturally, it is held at Hannibal's house.

Will sits at a corner seat, slightly separated from the rest of the party, Hannibal rests at the head host chair, Jack on his right and Alana on his left.

Will stares at his food as he distracts himself from the conversation. He stops chewing when Hannibal's voice breaks through the membrane like a megaphone on a baseball field.

"What do you think Will?"

He recovers after a brief stumble of words and a quick swallow. He responds vaguely, the answer could've been about anything really, and only Hannibal seems to notice that Will's not actually fully here.

"I think that Dr. Bloom is right."

William relies on the fact that almost always Alana and Hannibal have clashing opinions. It saves him from an awkward explanation.

Hannibal smiles knowingly.

Everyone drinks their wine.

Xxxxxxxxxx

A staggering Alana ends up supporting an equally staggering Jack as they head to the street to get a taxi, each whispering conspicuously together before Alana inevitably giggles, and Jack chuckles.

Will, however, holds his alcohol better than them. This is easily explained through the many nights that he's sat at the foot of his own bed with a bottle of scotch and a dog. He's a little used to this feeling.

He still staggers slightly though, so much so that Hannibal feels it is necessary to escort Will back home.

Hannibal helps Will with his coat, and Will doesn't realize that he shivers when a calloused finger tip briefly touches the skin on his hand. Hannibal positions his palm on Will's upper back as a support, leading with gentle authority towards his own car.

"You may retrieve your car in the morning, until then I will drive."

Will isn't listening, the lamppost outside of Dr. Lector's private practice building is glaringly bright and Will decides to glare back at it.

"It's all so...slippery." He says quietly. His glasses fall off of his nose. He bends to pick them up, stops when he gets dizzy. Hannibal steadies him.

"What is slippery Will?" His voice is extremely amused.

"This planet. It's hard to keep or have anything. Abigail couldn't keep her father, because he had to have his insanity."

"What is it that you want Will?"

They are at Hannibal's darkened car, almost hidden by the night. Will grabs the co- pilot door and looks. Lector is so lucid, so perceptive, and Will knows that he see's through everything, even himself. His eyes are trained on Will, and he swears that Hannibal is smelling him, smelling the fear mixed with alcohol mixed even more with some strange need to connect with the man in front of him.

Out of habit he opens the door to the car, and sits in the seat.

Before shutting the door he looks up at Hannibal.

"It's not obvious?"

At some point, Will falls asleep.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal is driving slowly on purpose. He's watching the man in the seat next to him. He even takes his eyes off the road completely once or twice just to marvel in the systematic breathing of William Graham.

At a red light, he drifts his hand through Will's curls. Will doesn't move, and there's no sign of any life except for the rise and fall of his chest.

It is obvious that Will feels safe.

When they arrive at Will's house, Hannibal decides that leaving Will asleep is the best course of action. So, with a strength that a inactive psychiatrist shouldn't have, he wraps Will's arms around his shoulders, grips his middle, and hoists him up the porch.

The dogs are excited, and Winston leads them all, tail prominent as he shakes happily and sniffs Hannibal with a frenzy.

He ignores them, and instead moves Will towards the bedroom. He only briefly remembers the layout of the house from when he had watched the dogs, but still, it is easy to relearn the area.

He finds himself disappointed in Will's taste in bedding. Pale blue sheets lay twisted at the bottom of the bed, followed by two lonely white pillows, lacking cases. He lay's Will down on what is obviously a far to sturdy spring mattress.

After this he simply watches. He notes the pulse of blood beneath Will's neck and he considers kissing the artery, but refrains. Another time maybe.

He leaves a note on the kitchen countertop:

_I'll be back near nine to return you to your car. I think a bit less alcohol in your diet would do you good, your liver must absolutely hate its job. _

_-H. Lector_

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will doesn't want to think about the fact that the next morning he has to take a cold shower.


	7. 2:1, Discussion

**Author's note: So...Raphael is an idiot for trying to go up against Hannibal. (Supernatural reference.) **

Act 2, scene 1: Discussion

Xxxxxxxxxx

_Constant practice devoted to one subject often outdoes both intelligence and skill. -Cicero_

Xxxxxxxxxx

The afternoon session begins with Hannibal handing Will a cup of foggy liquid. Will's eyebrows raise.

"Herbal tea, should soothe whatever headache lingers." Hannibal explained simply, as he sipped from his own cup. Will looked hesitant before he drank some of the liquid. Hannibal smiled as he watched the other man's neck break from the skin slightly. He was strangely glad that Will had forgiven him for the coffee incident.

"How can you not have a headache?" Will asked suddenly.

"I make it a point not to become intoxicated in front of guests, it can become tedious." Lector replied with ease, watching Will's fingers scratch at his cuff links.

Will continues scratching the cuff's in between sips.

"Any interesting killing's that I should know about?" Hannibal asks teasingly. Will's lips pull at the edges.

"Not that I know of." His shoulder's move with a shrug.

"I suppose that's good then?" He pauses and itches at the sore tissue of his thigh. "Tell me about the symphony."

Will stops sipping.

"Why? The case is over, as you know, why should we revisit it?"

"No reason."

"There's always a reason."

"Professional curiosity." Hannibal attempts to wave it off. An amused smirk at his mouth. He straightens, pulls at the creases on his collar and splay's his fingers across his thighs. An attractive pose he finds, it gains people attention easily.

"There is however, a topic I'd like to discuss today, Will." Will nods for Hannibal to continue. There's a flash from the window, a car mirror most likely, however the light bounces and hits Hannibal's eyes. Will see's maroon and mutely gasps.

"Do you ever worry, that one day you'll enter the mind of one of your psychopaths, and never leave?"

The cup quivers in Wills hands, he can't keep a grip on the handle and his throat feels dry. There's bile in his mouth.

"What?"

"Are you ever scared?"

Rephrasing, a calming tactic usually employed by parents and employers. Will has to remember that this is Hannibal, not Jack.

_Professional curiosity_

He convinces himself that he should tell the truth, that this is a safe place, that Hannibal can be trusted. That yes, yes he worries. Yes sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night with sweat on his body and the feeling of steel being torn from his hands, that sometimes Hannibal's the one extending the knife to him and sometimes he takes it. That sometimes Will see's his own design so clearly that he wants to bite into his hand and tear the tissue from its place just to prove that it's all real.

He manages a small nod. He coughs.

"I-I worry sometimes that I'll go to a dark place, yes."

"And bring something back?"

The answer is so obvious that Will feel's it is unnecessary to reply.

Hannibal smiles and leans forward slightly.

"This is good Will, you've improved greatly."

_Aegrescit medendo_

Hannibal's eyebrows quirk. "What?"

Will shakes himself, realizing he'd spoken out loud.

"Uh...and old term that I learned in high school Latin. It means um...'the disease worsens with the treatment.'" He chuckles darkly. "Didn't mean to say that out loud."

"No, I'm sure you didn't. However, it is of little importance. Tell me, what is it that you fear you'll bring back?"

"Not myself."

The question was left as it was.

Xxxxxxxxxx

The next few topics weren't any easier.

"Why is it you never assume the view of the victim?" Hannibal had asked at some point during the second cup of tea. Will choked on the liquid.

"What?"

"Is it because you know that you're not like them. That you never will be like them. That you've more in common with the killer than with the killed?" Hannibal continued undeterred and with a sort of feral curiousness that made Will whirl.

"I-" He took a breath. "I don't take their view for the same reason eye contact is difficult. I see too much, I don't see enough."

"The victims are ill informed regarding the situation, and yet they've front row seats as it were."

"Exactly."

Hannibal smiles, and it goes to his eyes.

"How are your dreams? Anything interesting?"

Will swears that he feels his face heat slightly.

Hannibal thinks that Will's pulse has accelerated. Oh, how he longed to find out.

A pink tongue dashes from Hannibal's mouth, meets the middle of his upper lip and scampers back in. Will find's Hannibal's mouth fascinating. The way the muscles move with such defined confidence. Compared to his clumsy mutterings Hannibal's mouth makes music. He wants to tear the music from his vocal chords.

A docile grin overcomes him.

"Depends on your definition of interesting."

Dr. Lecter isn't known for inappropriate behavior, particularly not in the office. He hates being rude. But, as of this moment he has to fight laughing out right. His index fingers twirl slightly along the fabric of his pants.

"Good dreams then, I take it?"

Will knows that his face is red by now.

"Well...I guess so. Good in some ways and bad in others."

Hannibal eyes take in Will's expression.

"Do these dreams include...violence? Sex? Death?"

"...Yes."

"At the same time?"

"Yes."

Hannibal nods. He is not a stranger to this topic of conversation among patients, he even finds his own dreams regarding these ideas not unwelcome. They're usually very insightful and entertaining.

"Would you feel comfortable disclosing who it is that you dream about?"

"I don't think so."

"Is it someone I know?"

Will almost throws his cup at the wall.

"Yes."

"Oh? Female?"

He considers throwing the cup at Hannibal, decides against it, and answers the question.

"No." He refuses to be embarrassed.

Hannibal is quite certain that he knows who Will is talking about and he swears that the tips of his fingers are aching as he fights the urge to reach them toward Will and pull the other man over to his side. Show him his taste, so close to a secret but so far from anything familiar.

Before Hannibal can finish questioning the phone rings. Jack Crawford is on the other line. Something about leaving his mobile phone at Hannibal's, but the psychiatrist isn't listening as he is far too busy observing Will who is staring strangely at his bronze elk.

He hangs up, assuring Jack that he'll look for the device, not really promising.

The hour is up.


	8. 2:2, Putting on a show

Act 2, scene 2: Putting on a show

Xxxxxxxxxx

Architecture is the art of how to waste space. -Phillip Johnson

Xxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal insists that Will finish his tea before leaving. If only out of courtesy. Grudgingly he does. It's become slightly lukewarm but he forces that thought out of his mind as he glares holes into the wall.

There's a light humming coming from Will's forehead and he immediately regrets leaving his ibuprofen in the car because now he see's small spots where the lights should be and Hannibal's looking at him with mild concern and he is almost certain that there's a fly on the antler of the elk and he wants to push it off the table, watch the fly die and then leave.

He takes the last sip of the cold tea.

Will squeezes his fingers, compares it briefly to pulling a trigger, and stands. His legs stretch out from under him in an arthritic way from having been kept in the same place for a long period of time.

"I should probably get going." Will murmurs despite the whisper in his head telling him to sit back down, ask for another cup of tea. He hopes that Hannibal offers for him to stay.

"Yes, you probably should." Hannibal agrees with ease, walking to the coat rack. He turns, Will's jacket in hand. Stepping forward he offers it.

Will reaches out and almost closes his eyes when Hannibal's fingers glide along his.

The touch is brief and unnoticeable.

Will leaves quickly.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It's definitely unique.

At least, from where Will's standing, that is. And from where he's standing there's a body, lounging casually on a park bench, legs crossed stiffly, arms on the edge of the wood and back relaxed. Their head is missing, and so is their inner torso. In place of the head is a football, shoved into the neck to stay still. There is sand where the innards should be.

"What do you think, the ripper?" Jack asks as his footsteps click on the asphalt of the public park. A perfect place for a display.

Will wonders if Hannibal is going to be joining them in the investigation.

"No. Everything here is to showy."

"I thought the ripper was showy."

"The ripper is confident. This...this is misplaced pride. The body is to well preserved for it to have been the ripper, on all of his victims there was at least some sign of resistance, very little but still..."

His eyes flicker to the football and he wishes that he could take it off, give the unnamed body what little dignity it should have in death. He doesn't move.

"Has forensics determined anything yet?"

"I've got Katz here on it, she'll brief you." Jack nods towards Will as he turns towards Katz approaching figure.

"Hey Will." She greets with a smile, as if there wasn't a body next to them. It's refreshing.

"Hello."

"So far no prints, no DNA, nothing. This guy's careful, nitpicky."

"Struggle?"

"None."

"Missing persons report?" Jack adds in with little hope for an answer.

"Scanning the data base now. But so far nothing. "

Will stares at the body and strains.

**This isn't a design. **

"He didn't kill the man." Will whispers, voice quavering slightly higher than normal.

"What?" Jack demands, full attention on Will as if he had suddenly grown a second head. As if he could take the second head, put it on the dead man, and have a recount of the story.

"These wounds, this...carving. It's post mortem."

"What do you see?"

Will blinks sharply. His eyes hurt.

"You should check local morgues. See if anything's...missing."

Xxxxxxxxxx

The crime scene coffee may have been freshly made, but the grounds had apparently been sitting in a vat of toxic chemicals for several years, because, in Will's opinion, the stuff was as close to undrinkable as something can be and still be a liquid.

He managed to drink it all without whimpering.

He feels his phone thrum in his jeans pocket and he runs his fingers over the scratchy material for a moment.

He has an email notification from a: _M. .H. _

He tries to keep his face passive as he skims over the small print text, neat and uniform in proper grammatical positions and prefixes.

Will looks up from his phone, looks at his empty coffee cup, feels his stomach drop, and types back a hastened reply as he swears he hears Jack's feet tapping closer to him.

He grabs his jacket and escapes quickly.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal has decided to teach Will how to cook.


	9. 2:3, Cooking

**yellowspraypaintedsmiles: Of course, that'd be awesome! *Barely contained joy***

Act 2, scene 3: Cooking

Xxxxxxxxxx

If you really want to make a friend, go to someone's house and eat with him...the people who give you their food give you their heart. -Cesar Chavez

Xxxxxxxxxx

Precisely ten minutes before Hannibal arrived, panic set in. Will rushed around his house in a shark like frenzy, attacking any weak piece of litter that blocked the path from door to kitchen. His dogs, even Winston, would shrink from Will, waiting for the tsunami of cleaning fury to dissipate.

Two minutes before five thirty, the door bell rang.

Will ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to contain the defiant locks. He looked in the mirror and frowned. It looked as if he had tried to brush the leaves of a tree.

Rushing to the door Will tried to ignore the small but prominent pattering in his chest and the way his throat squeezed itself.

Pulling the door open slowly, and with induced grace Will stared at Hannibal's now visible brown leather shoes.

"Hello William."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will resists the urge to snort.

"You call this simple?" He says, disbelieving as he rereads the recipe that Hannibal has brought with him. The recipe is for a warm salad with Lamb chops and Mediterranean dressing.

"Yes, considering that I've taken the liberty of pre cutting the meat for simple marinade and removal of fat, if necessary, and brought all ingredients and utilities needed. I'll be helping every step of the way."

"Isn't this a little, excessive? Where'd you get it anyway?"

Hannibal doesn't look up from his lamb. Which he had personally harvested yesterday. The middle aged traffic enforcer with conservative blue sued who had shouted at passerby's for no particular reason, had favored cars over others and bent the rules many times. His thighs had a soft tenderness that Hannibal thought Will would enjoy.

"Just a lost lamb in the woods that wandered to a butcher's shop."

"Lucky us."

Hannibal smirks as he pulls at the muscles on the meat.

"Would you like to begin the cutting of the meat?"

Xxxxxxxxxx

They're given forty five minutes at least as the meat soaks in a bowl of red liquid, a mixture of its own blood, vinegar, rosemary, and garlic. Hannibal smiled lightly as he noted Will's red tinted fingertips, well suited he thought.

Winston pushes forward and leans his large snout on Hannibal's thigh. Eyes wandering subtly to the man's pocket.

"He likes you." Will say's after a moment, observing the interaction as Hannibal uses his nails to scratch between the dogs eyes.

"I suppose he is accustomed to my scent."

Will doesn't want to think about how accurate that statement most likely is.

"Although, Will, I must know, why dogs?"

"Why dogs? Well...I-they're just easy I guess. I don't have to think to figure them out. They're open books, there's no hidden agenda, no personality disorder, no murders in the dark. Unlike cats...The only purpose of cats is that they constitute mobile decorative objects."

Hannibal chuckles.

_"Why do you think they are easier than people?"_

_Will shifts. _

_"Most people are just..._ We think we can make honey without sharing in the fate of bees, but we are in truth nothing but poor bees, destined to accomplish our task and then die. And dogs are easy in this manner because well, they're not bee's."

"How enlightening."

"I haven't slept clearly in at least twenty hours. I'm allowed a little leeway."

Hannibal's eyebrows raise in concern as he shifts his legs and stands, moving toward Will, who shies slightly.

"More dreams? Tell me about them?"

"No. Not dreams...just realizations."

Hannibal allows a brief smirk as he holds out his hand, waiting for Will to grasp it.

"Come. I believe we should continue our efforts in the kitchen."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will is surprisingly skilled with a blade, Hannibal finds. Whether it is because of the great amount of free time he possesses or the many designs he's carefully examined Hannibal can hardly contain his excitement as he watches over the empath's shoulder in delight.

Will's fingers move with a dancing velocity that can only be found in a teacher who has used a dry erase marker to many times, and the writing calluses on index and pointer finger rub against the handle of the kitchen knife as he pushes down gingerly, cutting through the meats redness.

Hannibal closes his eyes and looks. He see's then, what his future will be, Will the protégé, more promising than Abigail, but more damaged than a fractured mirror, holding the linoleum knife that Hannibal kept in his office. He'd hold it like a chef, and when the blow needed to be dealt he'd deal with practiced precision that only a professional could have.

Hannibal inhales deeply.

Will jumps slightly and the knife clatters to the countertop.

The lamb is forgotten as Hannibal and Will's eyes meet, gaze held in glistening silence.

"Did you know, that it is in your company that I have had my finest thoughts?" Hannibal's asks suddenly, teeth revealed slightly as he grins at Will.

"What are you doing?" Will whispers, voice cracking. He steps back, and his tailbone hits the counter top. His glasses tumble off. He stares at his feet.

"Look at me."

Hannibal's voice rumbles with a profound importance as he steps forward slightly. Will looks.

He suddenly remembers why he hates eye contact.

Hannibal's eyes have flashed a brilliant maroon and the irises bloat with the dimness of the kitchen, suit jacket slightly wrinkled.

"What are you thinking Will?"

He tells him, not really realizing that he has no idea that Hannibal's left hand has gripped his own.

"Our eyes may perceive, yet they do not observe; they may believe, yet they do not question; they may receive yet they do not search: they are emptied of desire, with neither hunger nor passion."

"How poetic. Renee Michel I believe?"

Will has lost the ability to speak as all he can see is Hannibal, only Hannibal with the blaring brightness of truth illuminating behind the shine in maroon filled holes. His tongue loses some of its weight.

"I may know that the world is an ugly place, doesn't mean that I want to see it."

"But vulgarity can be forgiven, in the sight of beauty."

"And what's so beautiful that it could do that?"

"You of course."

Hannibal closes the distance between them by using his grip on Will's hand to pull the other man into an uncomfortable meeting as his hand is pulled behind Hannibal's own back.

It's unpracticed and sloppy, but Will can feel his knee's weaken and he knows that he's falling, and he also knows that Hannibal's other arm has moved to wrap around his waist, and now they're both falling. Will crumples first, forehead resting against Hannibal's shoulder as he feels his face heat and his eyes smear.

"What are you doing?" Will whispers for the second time.

Hannibal's grip merely tightens around Will as a slow smile creeps up to his face.

"No need to worry. I've got you."

Xxxxxxxxxx

The dinner is never made, but neither seem to mind.


	10. 2:4, Tea Time

Act 2, scene 4: Tea Time

Xxxxxxxxxx  
Desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius. -Benjamin Disraeli

Xxxxxxxxxx

In a split second of eternity, everything is changed, transfigured.

Will leans his head to the side and counts the beats of his heart. Both he and Hannibal haven't moved yet, the kiss that took place moments ago lingering in the air like pollutants. Will's knees are starting to hurt from being cramped between Hannibal's thigh and the floor.

His lungs tremble and the breath that comes from his mouth heaves. Hannibal's grip loosens to allow Will to shift out of his arms. Will scoots on the ground slightly reveling in the way that the cold hardwood feels against the palms of his calloused hands.

The room smells like burnt meat.

Hannibal stands briskly and, placing a hot glove on, reaches into the oven and relieves it of the blacked meat. With slight reservation, he dumps the remains into the waste bin.

Will stay's sitting and watches, tongue running along the ridges on the inside of his mouth.

Hannibal gives him a pointed look and smiles gently. "Would you like a cup of tea Will?"

"God yes."

Xxxxxxxxxx

The tea ritual: such a precise repetition of the same gestures and the same tastes; accession to simple, authentic and refined sensations, a license given to all, at little cost, to become aristocrats of taste, because tea is the beverage of the wealthy and the poor; the tea ritual, therefore, has the extraordinary virtue of introducing into the absurdity of our lives an aperture of serene harmony.

Will doesn't feel very serene. No, he feels light headed, he feels like he's dissolving almost as thoroughly as the sugar cubes he keeps dropping into the chamomile tea.

He glances up constantly, and each time he is met with an amused maroon gaze. And each time his eyes dart back to the tea.

"Where did you get that painting?" Will asks finally, the silence suffocating him.

"Oh that. It's a reproduction of Salome with the Head of Saint John." He gives a smile and his lips pull around his teeth and Will feels like he's going to fall again. Will grinds his molars.

"So we're not going to talk about that?" He asks, angry.

"Talk about what?" Hannibal is teasing him, he knows it, but he still takes the bait.

"The k-kiss. That, that moment in the kitchen."

"Do you regret it?"

"No-no I don't regret it. I loved it."

"Then why are we still discussing it?" Hannibal asks curiously, as if the concept of communication is a completely new theory.

Will feels like this is a one sided conversation.

"What are we now. Huh? Patient-Doctor, friends with benefits...Lov-What are we?" His voice has risen and his head hurts so much he wants to slam it against a wall. There must be a bee in his skull, he thinks, an angry, angry bee. Buzzing against the hard bone till he swears he's going to faint.

During Will's internal rant regarding bee's Hannibal has risen and moved toward Will.

Hannibal's lips touched Will's brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor. Will whimpered and fell into Hannibal, gripping onto the taller man's clothing as if he were the last lifeline on the titanic.

The lifeline popped and deflated as Hannibal pulled back, a content look on his face.

"It's getting late. Perhaps I should return home and tend to my own business."

Will nods numbly, prays for the first time in a long time that Hannibal won't actually leave, lets go of the suit and takes a step back.

Just before Hannibal steps out the front door he turns and looks at Will.

"I'd like to escort you to your class tomorrow if you don't mind. I can be here at six thirty, will that be appropriate?"

Will couldn't say yes fast enough.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will is awake at five.

Xxxxxxxxxx

When they arrive at the academy, Will walks next to Hannibal, close enough that their sleeves brush against one another on every stride. Hannibal doesn't seem to notice.

When Will goes to check in, Jack is there, discussing something with the secretary. Jack doesn't look up as Will walks by, and when he finally finishes conversing and glances at Will, he doesn't seem to know him. Jack nods toward them like he would anyone on the street and walks on.

Will's head whirs and he unconsciously grips Hannibal's sleeve. His headache is returning.

"He didn't recognize me."

Hannibal beckons him forward.

"He didn't recognize me." Will repeats. Hannibal stops, turns, hand now resting on Will's shoulder.

"It is because he has never seen you. I would recognize you anywhere."

Will goes to his class and talks about profiling sociopath's.


	11. 2:5, Cups of Gold

Act 2, scene 5: Cups of gold.

**Author's note: What's this? An update? **

Xxxxxxxxxx  
And if the Babe be born a Boy  
He's given to a Woman Old,  
Who nails him down upon a rock,  
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.  
-William Blake

Xxxxxxxxxx

_Will looks down past the stars to a terrifying darkness. It's impossible. "Accident," He whispers. He will fall. Will seems to desire the fall, and though he fights it with all his might he knows in advance that he can't possibly win. Standing baffled, quaking with fear, three feet from the edge of a nightmare cliff, he finds himself, incredibly, moving towards it. He looks down, down, into bottomless blackness, feeling the dark power moving in his gut like an ocean current, some monster inside him, deep black wonder, dread night monarch astir in his cave, moving Will slowly to his voluntary tumble into death._

_One more step and he'll be-_

_"Will?"_

Xxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal is looking at him expectantly from his perch on Will's classroom desk, and he knows he should answer, but right now all he can do is focus on the incessant burning in his head and the warm blackness that was torn from him so suddenly he's scared to admit that he misses it.

_Bring it back_

"Will." Hannibal's voice has lost the questioning tone as it instead pokes gently at him, testing barriers. "What is it?"

"Nothing, I just got distracted." It's a white lie, unrelenting and certainly clear as water to Hannibal. However the psychiatrist does not comment on it as he instead leans across the mahogany toward the other man.

"Distracted from me?" It's posed innocently as his thin fingers move to Will's chin, before gripping nicely. "I never...come here." With ease Will obeys, pushing his chair forward as he straightens his back so that Hannibal can look at him fully.

Eye contact is okay if it's Hannibal. Only him though.

Hannibal smiles in a fond sort of way that makes Will's heart burn. Hannibal's thumb pushes over Will's lips and Will trembles slightly, not out of arousal, but loneliness.

"What were you distracted by?" Hannibal questions. Will hesitates.

"Just a daydream."

Hannibal hums as a sign for him to continue. His thumb continues moving along Will's cheek.

"I was...surrounded by an ache. The best way to relieve myself of the ache seemed to be to embrace it." Will said quietly. He could already guess at the implications at such a fantasy. However, Hannibal beat him to it.

"Do you believe it is your minds way of telling you that perhaps you enjoyed killing Hobbs, are perhaps proud of Abigail, maybe even...starting to enjoy your work?"

Will pulls out of Hannibal's grip and closes his eyes.

"What are you playing at?" He asks, slightly angry at Hannibal. Who responds with a question of his own.

"Are you making, or destroying, Will? Tell me, how have you been sleeping?"

"I've been sleeping fine." He's becoming clipped, withdrawn.

"So not at all then."

"It's hardly your concern." Now Hannibal just can't have this attitude.

A hand reaches forward and grabs the collar of Will's button down plaid shirt tightly. Will's eyes wide in barely contained terror as his glasses teeter off of the bridge of his nose. Hannibal's maroon eyes twinkle slightly.

"It is every bit my concern my dear Will." His hold seems to become tighter as he leans in closer. "I've grown quite fond of you not only as a colleague but as perhaps a significant other. I can hardly have a significant other who's lost in his own exhausted thoughts."

He pushes forward and their noses bump together slightly as he sucks Will in, all attention demanded, all attention gained as Hannibal's empty hand slithers to the back of Will's neck, where spine meets skull. Like a predator he grips this area vice like as he holds Will in a locked position. He considers applying further pressure and decides against it.

He pulls back from a bewildered, and pouty William.

"It's just tedious."

Removing his body completely from the desk and thus Will, he straightens his collar, smiles slightly and glances back.

"I believe tonight I shall inquire upon your hospitality. I'd like to ensure that you sleep soundly, and if my presence is required then so be it."

Will splutters, stands, splutters further, trips forward for his glasses and points.

"You bastard!"

"Hmmm?"

"You did that on purpose!"

"Of course, every action of mine is predetermined Will, I thought you would've figured this out by now. Tsk. And as your soon-to-be-lover it is my right to purposefully ensure my claim, through physical affection."

He gives Will a moment to take in the statement as he glances at his watch.

"It's a quarter until ten, I suggest we make towards your house."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will's house is slightly cleaner than it usually is. Whether it is Hannibal's influence or the simple fact Will had been fed up with the over excessive clutter, is beyond the hypothesizes that Hannibal is considering currently.

"You don't have to act any differently because I am here. Please, continue on as if I weren't here."

Of course that doesn't work, because Will is always so acutely aware. Always. And Hannibal is a blaring blip on Will's radar that he doesn't want to lose track of.

He changes in the bathroom.

When he goes to his bed, he sees that Hannibal has brought one of the kitchen chairs to the edge, placed a pillow on it and made himself comfortable.

Will swallows as he notices Hannibal's lack of suit jacket, tie, suit vest and shoes.

Under the white undershirt is a light pink tint and Will wishes there was pink to his skin, but no, it's all pale unattractive cell, tight across a too thin body.

He suddenly wishes he were under the covers, hidden, he suddenly wishes Hannibal would leave, that Winston would come, that he could just go to sleep, but instead he stands, as if waiting for Hannibal's permission to fall asleep in his own home.

Hannibal looks up at him with the patience of a parent and smiles.

"Nothing to be afraid of Will." His accent pulls the 'W' slightly and Will wishes he could feel Hannibal's voice, if he could he knows it would feel like feathers. Bristle when rough, yet soft enough to sleep on.

Will holds onto this image as he pulls himself into the bed, and hopes that he doesn't keep Hannibal up.

Xxxxxxxxxx

_He has a throne. _

_He made it himself. _

_The hands and feet and the base raise him up, show him their respect. The legs that make up the base hold his weight, carry him forward. The arms shower around him like a peacock feather display and he swears that the chair shivers. The heads are resting places for which to lay his hands. _

_Will is so proud of his throne, bodies and all. _

_He looks up, and there he is. Will smiles, genuinely and everything fits together so nicely he swears it's a child's puzzle. _

_Hannibal's throne is made of antlers. _

_Will stands, and walks forward, reaching toward Hannibal. Unlike a mirage, Hannibal only comes closer into view and when Will grabs for the clothing of the psychiatrist he feels polyester. His knees feel weak as he forces himself to look into Hannibal's eyes. _

_"I see you." He whispers, playfully. He goes to his knees so he has better access to Hannibal's wrists. He pushes his lips to the blues veins and gasps at the cool skin. _

_"Of course you do Will. I've never hidden. All you had to do was blink, and things became clear." _

_"And how clear it is." _

_Hannibal pulls Will from his wrists and grips his hands tightly. _

_"Dance with me." _

Xxxxxxxxxx

When Will starts to clench the bed sheets, slight sweat on his brow, Hannibal watches carefully. Will's hands move to his wrists as he starts scratching.

In an instant Hannibal has a hold on Will's wrists as he pins them to the bed, eyes scanning Will's face.

Will blinks blearily for a few moments, and upon seeing Hannibal, smiles sleepily.

"I see you." He whispers as he twists out of the psychiatrists grasp and instead grabs the other man's shirt front as he begins toying with the buttons.

Hannibal watches, allowing Will to pull the buttons from their carefully placed order, they make a light popping sound.

"What are you doing Will?" Hannibal asks quietly after a moment.

"We're going to dance."

**Author's note: HAHAHAHAH**

**I don't know what I'm doing. Oh but hey, rating will go up next chapter, so...yeah.**


	12. 2:6, Dancing

**Important Authors Note: I'm leaving you with this chapter as I'll be travelling to Spain for two weeks. So no updates in that time, however when I return there shall be an update. I ain't finishing here. Adios mis amigos. **

Act 2, scene 6: Dancing

Xxxxxxxxxx

"The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that."  
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones  
Xxxxxxxxxx

Will feels drunk with heat. He knows he's sweating, though not quite sure why. All he knows is that there's a pleasant tingle making its way from his chest to his lower abdomen and that the tingle sparks strongly when he look at Hannibal.

"We're going to dance." He whispers, trying to grab Hannibal's wrists once more.

He groans in annoyance when the psychiatrist instead pulls away and slips his hand onto Will's forehead.

"You don't feel as though you've got a fever."

"I don't have a fever, and even if I did I wouldn't care."

"That's irrational."

Hannibal is hushed by a pair of lips.

Will is pushed back onto the bed. Blood flushes across his cheeks as Hannibal's gaze lands on the sweat pants that hang low on the other mans hips, the tangled overly large tee-shirt that's ridden up on one end, the lack of glasses, the gaze pierces him and sends blood downwards.

"You're fumbling Will. Fumbling about like a freshman pulling at panties." Hannibal whispers slowly, eyes locked. Will responds with closed eyes, a dry swallow and an embarrassed stare downwards.

"I-I-"

"Remarkable, absolutely remarkable."

Before Will can ask what Hannibal finds so remarkable, he is thrown into silence.

Hannibal brushed his lips over Will's again, his hands moving back slightly so that his fingers were threaded through Will's hair, moving his face so that his lips could press closer to Will's own. Will was moving his head slightly, eyes stinging. Hannibal's hands left Will's hair, trailing down until they met the crevice of the collar bone; leisurely he pushed it until Will made a noise of discomfort. Hannibal smiled.

He dipped his hand beneath the cotton of Will's shirt, tugging it upwards. Will helped this process by stretching his arms upward. The shirt slipped off easily.

Will's chest ached from the contact, wondering if Hannibal could have come here to rip him apart even more. His lips shifted Hannibal's apart, their breath mingling as they simply moved their lips, not quite kissing but instead just letting pressure be felt.

Hannibal put a steadying hand on Will's hip and pushed him into the mattress slightly. His glare was intense and pushed a dull knife into Will's gut.

Without hesitation, Will moved his hands along Hannibal's still clothed chest. He pressed his left hand against Hannibal's face, palm cupping the man's cheek. Hannibal leans into his touch.

Will feels himself flush. Making himself push his right hand from Hannibal's chest downwards until it brushed against the button of khakis. Will fumbles, but gets it eventually. He hooks Hannibal's boxer briefs under his finger and pulls them down.

Hannibal's expression flashes relief at the contact. Moving against Will's hand, urging gently.

Will slides his hand over him, relishing in the heat as fingers curl. Hannibal sighs, it is laced with something deep, ending with a light growl that made Will's stomach clench in a extremely different way than it usually does.

The maroon in Hannibal's eyes glows.

This was something that Will had never experienced before. It sets Will's heart beating wildly in his chest, at a pace he can't count and he's sure Hannibal can hear. It was a pace that he lunged forward on, hands tugging at cloth and throwing them, to the floor. And yet, for all of Will's eagerness, he was the one who ended up on his hands and knees, back curving an exquisite arc that Hannibal traced with his hands.

It was Hannibal's hands, shockingly gentle but sure, that opened Will up; fingers slick and crooking so. It was his cock that nudged into Will's body, slow and patient, in a way that made Will tremble violently. It had Will pressing the palm of his hand against the bed, pushing back for more, for harder, quicker, and rougher. For that, he earned teeth digging into his shoulder, as Will's chest pressed down against his back, pressing him down; his trembling hands digging into Will's waist and holding him still.

When Hannibal finally moved, finally fucked Will, it was slow. It was more like a taming, bringing a wild animal to heel with a patient, but steady hand. Will sunk down into it, flexing against the sheets as his breath fell into the cotton.

He gasped, groaned, and panted; words a not relevant as he entered the rhythm. Time slipped away from him, the rise and fall of Hannibal's chest against his back more tangible than any clock in the room. The hand curving around over his chest, around his throat, was the life vest that pulled a choked sob from him as Hannibal continued to work him over. He knew nothing but the roll of Hannibal's skilled hips, the slide of his knees against the bed, held in by the man he didn't know, yet knew better than anyone else. And when Will finally came, it was with hands clawing at the wrist of the hand around his throat, because he could no longer tell where one body ended and the other began.

And when they lay on the bed, fingers entwined Will see's Hannibal. He sees the victims he see's Annabel, he see's caked dirt under fingernails and he smiles.

He see's.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will's made the decision that Hannibal's heart is made of antlers. Gorgeous antlers.

He's going to mount each one of these antlers individually on his own rough patch of a heart.


	13. 2:7, Acknowledged

**Authors note: I'M BAAAAACCCKKK. Anyway, here you are. **

Act 2, scene 7: Acknowledged

Xxxxxxxxxx

"It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane."  
― Philip K. Dick, VALIS

Xxxxxxxxxx

His knee's ache and his neck is sore. The skin of his thighs are red. There are scratches on his stomach and back and he knows that there are streaks of dried salt on his cheeks from where tears fell.

It feels absolutely euphoric.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will's eyes open to dimness and he is vaguely aware of an arm wrapped tightly about his mid abdomen. Instead of shrinking away he scoots toward the warmth and grips at shoulders. He breathes in musk and closes his eyes again.

He starts to consider things.

For instance, he considers the fact that he's not angry, though he knows the correct response is that he should be. He should be furious, should be pointing guns and calling police. But he won't.

Hannibal is a killer.

Will wishes he had coffee.

Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's sleeping form and prepares himself for the worst.

Xxxxxxxxxx

He starts self diagnosing by the time he's eating breakfast.

Stockholm syndrome crosses his mind and he frowns into a bite of his toast. He looks at Hannibal and Hannibal looks at him.

Will's stomach churns delightfully, not from arousal but from recognition as he glances toward the meat that resembles bacon on the plate. Teasing it with his fork he brings it to his lips and nibbles. The plate is clean soon.

Hannibal smiles and walks to him, robe loose around his form. Fingers thread through Will's locks and thumbs stoke skin. Hannibal's eyes drift shut as he leans toward Will and rests his chin on the other man's head. Hannibal kisses Will's forehead.

"The best is yet to come my dear William, sadly it lives adjacent to the worst."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Jack is the first to notice a difference.

Will stands straighter, his glasses require less manual maneuvering, his hair is no longer messy, shirts are tucked correctly, and most shocking of all; Will's looked Jack in the eyes.

When Dr. Lector comes to collaborate on a case, both are increasingly aware of one another. It was obvious just by watching Will that he was completely and utterly conscious to where Dr. Lector was; his body always seemed slightly turned towards him, even when he was at the other end of the room. And when they did in fact come in contact, Will became open, willing, wanting. Dr. Lector's hands would 'accidentally' brush against Will's, or their shoulders would bump, maybe shoes would scrape.

And Jack knew.

Xxxxxxxxxx

When Will finally confronts Hannibal, he does so cautiously and curiously, he's not scared, rather a toddler approaching a library.

He wants to understand.

Hannibal easily answers, hands going back to their place on Will's hips circling gently.

"I have a right to be this way…I can't apologize for that, nor can I change it, nor do I want to." A pause. "You have a right to Will. You can be whatever you like." Hannibal's fingers trail downwards and trace the taut muscles of Will's lower torso.

Will remains composed.

"What would you have me be?"

"Mine."

"Just yours? Nothing else?"

Hannibal hums as he rearranges himself on the bed once more so that he is directly above Will.

"You could become my student." His lips trace the shell of Will's ear.

"What kind of student?" Will is shivering and his hips are trembling by the fact that Hannibal hasn't relieved pressure as he rolls their hips together.

"My student."

Xxxxxxxxxx

When Will informs Jack about his relationship with Hannibal, things go differently than planned.

"I'm moving forward in a relationship with Dr. Lector." Will says quietly, slightly embarrassed as he shifts in the agents leather chair.

"I certainly hope that you don't call him that..." Jack says in a joking tone. It does not faze Will. But he does blink in acknowledgement of the joke. He pulls his lips back and smiles. Both of them know it's fake.

"I just thought I'd let you know for future cases, so there's no confusion over anything."

Jack taps the tip of his pen on the desk, once, twice, and halts on the third.

"Will, are you sure about this?" Jack asks, slightly worried.

"Yes, of course. Why?" Will responds, concerned.

"I don't want you to do anything stupid that's all. I mean, we're friends."

Will feels like shoving the pen down Jack's throat.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Will is all glass bones and Iron skin. His brain runs like a motor and the hamster in charge is going nuts.  
He thrums his fingers along the glass in his hand and watches through his lashes as Hannibal entertains his dinner guests.

Scents waft through the air and Will bites the inside of his cheek.

"Dr. Lector! That looks absolutely delectable." Comes a female nasal voice from the end of the table. She has flat blond hair and white teeth. Will doesn't like the way she smiles at Hannibal. Jack and Alana are there too, but less conspicuously, tucked into corners opposite of Hannibal.

"Thank you Mrs. Chilton, you honor me."

Dr. Chilton is there too, sitting across from Will, grinning like a shark.

As food is passed around, Dr. Chilton bites into it first and makes a very satisfied face.  
"Dr. Lector, you must tell us what this delicious meal is."

"I'm afraid that if I did, you wouldn't be eating it. Bon appetite."

"Bon appetite." Is chimed in response.

Will's finger nails drag along the glass of wine and his eyes catch maroon.

He eats his meal quietly.

Xxxxxxxxxx

"I hate him." Will whispers later in the kitchen as Hannibal cleans the dishes.

"Who Will? Who do you hate?" Hannibal's movements do not cease.

"Chilton. He is a truly nasty man."

Hannibal stops momentarily as he looks up at Will and smirks.

"What makes him nasty?"

" He has so thoroughly renounced everything good and humane that he might have inside him that he's already like a corpse even though he's still alive."

Will's eyes are hard and cold. His back is hunched and he's still holding the wine glass from dinner, empty now. Hannibal's eyes narrow.

"What about me?" It's posed casually, teasingly.

Will looks up in surprise and slight worry. Shakily, he puts down the glass and makes his way toward the sink.

"You are nothing like that blood sucker. You...you can be anything you want to be." Will pushes a hand to Hannibal's back and traces the muscles.

Hannibal turns towards Will, hands dripping wetly as he snakes them forward. One takes place on Will's hip, and another on his cheek.

"And what are you Will? What do you want?"

Will bites his lower lip and looks up at Hannibal. The parted hair's fall slightly and the thin lips turn up slightly.

" I want to be building."


End file.
